In the Wind
by Kellen
Summary: Perhaps the idealism behind "the sword that protects" was a family heirloom rather than mere idealism? And how does a family that traces its roots back to these two people succeed or fail in its bid to keep the legacy alive? A series of vignettes...
1. Leaves

In the Wind:

Leaves

by Kellen

Author's Notes/Summary: This is the first in a series of stories chronicling the legacy of the Himura and Kamiya family. Perhaps the idealism behind "the sword that protects" was a family heirloom rather than mere idealism? And how does a family that traces its roots back to these two "protective" people succeed or fail in its bid to keep the legacy alive? Each vignette is a separate story.

Rating: Collectively, PG-13. This vignette is the same.

Leaves

It was said that once upon a time, a sakabatou had rested on this wall. It had also been said that a family of legendary swordsmen had protected the peace of Japan. Now, the wall was derelict, dust gathered around what had once been a small alter. Kammie swung her small lantern in a wide arc, bathing the large room with dim light. The corners held shadows that seemed to refuse the light. Recently disturbed dust – the dust Kammie had kicked up – danced in the lantern's light.

Kammie shook her head. "There's been no one here in years," she said to no one but herself. She snorted. The man she'd hired to look after the ancestral home had called her away from her own life and home with reports of people disturbing the old dojo. Judging by the years of grime and dust built up, not even old Masuyo, the caretaker, had been here. She looked down at the dirty floor in disgust. "This place needs cleaned."

Kammie turned to face the wall, lantern held high as she regarded the broken shelves that once held bokkens, shinais, and, if legend held, a sakabatou. Her hand wavered as she turned, sending light skittering along the edges of the floor and dancing about her shoulders. Auburn hair fell in her face, and she shoved it aside as blue-grey eyes narrowed. She stepped forward, fingers lightly tracing the edge of the small shrine.

She knew the family legends; she may live half a world away and London's streets differed greatly from Tokyo's, but this place was her's and had stayed in the family for generations now. She knew them, she had a certain reverence for them, but she wasn't sure if she believed them.

"Even so," she said aloud, bowing deferentially to the shrine, "whether I believe or not is not the issue. We'll get this place cleaned come morning." She turned on her heel, and purposefully strode out of the main room. Had she bothered to look behind her, she might have seen the dust swirl around a ghostly shape, and she might have seen a smile in the dark.

Kammie shut the shoji without looking back, and took comfort in the eerie whisper as it slid across the floor. It meant the place wasn't completely silent, wasn't completely without life or sound. "In the morning," she promised. She stepped down into the yard, careful of broken and rotted wood on the porch. Laughing softly at herself and her overly romantic mood, she looked up at the crescent moon and smiled at the stars. She shook her head at her own drama, and wished her son and husband in London a good night. Maybe one day soon, she could get them to come out to see this place, and she could tell Kenneth the family legacy. It shouldn't die with her.

She turned to make her way out the main gate, but the shed caught her eye. Its steps were broken, but the shoji was open. In just a few jogging steps, Kammie was at the door, hand up to touch the broken lock and chain. She frowned. Perhaps Masuyo had been right after all. Either way, she was still going to get onto him for letting the place go like this.

She grabbed the chain, suddenly angry that anyone would disturb this place. Cut. She swore, and dropped the chain on the ground. The loud clanking seemed to echo through the quiet night. In the echoes of the chain dropping, Kammie heard a footstep behind her. She froze, eyes wide and mouth open, not quite daring to believe that any intruders would be here the same night she came. Kammie turned quietly.

He stood at the corner of the dojo building, near the shoji she'd just come out of. From where she stood she could see him frowning at the shoji. Footprints, she realized. She would have left footprints. As quietly as she could, she stepped backward, awkwardly climbing up the broken steps and into the shed. Once inside, she crouched, putting out the lantern and scooting backward into the dark, cramped recesses of the shed. There was a cell phone in her pocket, but she'd ran down the battery talking with her family earlier. She ran down her rather short list of options. Her only one now was wait.

She hated waiting. In the dark, she reached out with her right hand, hoping to find something she could use as a weapon. It might not do her any good, but she'd feel better with the weight of some sort of club in her head, should Ugly decide to come inside the shed. Her fingers brushed against cloth and reflexively, she closed her hand around it.

Before she could register that she had, in fact, grabbed an ankle, her wrist was grabbed and she was pulled upright. She couldn't help it; she screamed. Her left arm flailed as she tried to furiously backpedal. She tried to pull away, but whoever had her was strong. Her wrist was yanked and she fell forward, landing painfully against stacks of crates, trunks and boxes. A flashlight came on, and the first thing Kammie heard was the horribly familiar sound of a gun being cocked. Frightened eyes turned into the light, and Kammie was greeted with a man who seemed twice as big as she was holding a gun and flashlight.

"Was wondering when you would notice me, lady," he told her, a wry laugh in his voice.

Kammie shook her head as she pushed herself off the boxes. She squinted, trying to see past the light. No good; the flashlight was too bright for her to see his face. The gun waved. "No, no, no," he said. "You stay where I put you."

Kammie stilled. Her heart was racing, her knees knocking and hands trembling.

"Well, well."

This voice was behind her; it took every ounce of self-control Kammie possessed not to whirl around the see the man standing in the shed's doorway.

"You found our intruder, did you?"

The first man nodded as anger welled up in Kammie. Them? Calling _her _the intruder? Her hands stopped trembling as her fists clenched.

"Who are you?" the second man asked.

Kammie's anger broke through her fear. Once before, she'd been threatened at gunpoint. Never again would she allow the fear to rule her as it did that day. When fear ruled, people died. "Who's asking?" she retorted.

The first man laughed while the second stepped into the shed, lantern in hand. "Common thieves," he answered, shrugging. "Just curious. Thought this place was empty."

Had he not been in cahoots with the man with the gun, Kammie might have thought him charming and easygoing, the way his voice rang inside the shed.

"So," he continued. "Who are you?"

"Kammie," she relented. "I own this place."

"Kammie who?"

"Stone."

He stopped within feet of her. The first man still had the gun trained on her. "Stand up, Kammie Stone." His voice had lost the easy-going charm; it was hard and menacing. Kammie found her hands trembling again. Dry-mouthed, she stood. "Face me."

She swallowed, turning slowly.

"Don't forget the gun still on you, Ms. Stone."

She bit back the fierce rejoinder that came to mind and faced the second man silently. Without a word, they stared at each other. Kammie's hands were pressed tightly against her thighs, her knees threatening to give out at any time. He faced her impassively, flashlight held loosely in his right hand.

It seemed they stared for far longer than necessary. The man didn't flinch; his expression didn't change an iota as he swung his right hand up. Kammie brought her hands up, but couldn't block the flashlight as it cracked against her cheek. She fell sideways, back into the boxes she'd just got off of, hands over her head. Her vision swam. Her eyes were tearing up, and she couldn't tell if the wetness she felt through the pain on her cheek was blood or tears.

The men were talking, but the words were surreal to Kammie's ear. They were distorted, strange.

"What should I do with her?"

"No one will ever find her."

"No one comes into this place. Not even that old caretaker."

"…worked too hard..."

"…won't get caught now…"

Tears fell onto Kammie's swollen and split cheek. Fear may not have killed anyone today, like that day so long ago, but anger had not saved her either. She may not have frozen in front of the gun this time, but it still hadn't saved her. Blood dripped onto her hand… just like that day. This time, though, it was her own blood, and her own actions. Somehow, it felt different. Last time, it had been his blood. His blood had been flowing onto the floor because of her actions. She felt a little redeemed, if confused. She hadn't killed anyone by freezing up. No one had to lose his life to save her.

Just her life now. But she hadn't frozen. She could be proud of that at least, in the end.

The wind was picking up outside. The old shed rattled. She could hear the tree branches swaying, the leaves falling and rolling in the wind. Never touching the ground. She wondered if that's how her soul would make its way to the afterlife. If she would dance with the wind.

She could barely see the gun that now aimed for her head.

"Not that, idiot. Someone will hear."

The gun was put away, but she didn't care. Either way, she was dead. They'd probably beat her, or break her neck. Hit her head harder, maybe.

The wind gusted harder, beating against the shed. A swirl of leaves blew through the door as the wind changed direction. They danced in frenzy inside the shed.

"The hell?"

"Close the door!"

The man turned to do so as another gust of wind brought a sea of leaves into the door. Taken by surprise, the man stepped backward and tripped, dropping to the floor with a loud thud.

Kammie turned to look, out of instinct more than anything else. The leaves covered the man and blew toward her. Enthralled for a reason unknown to her, she watched as a single leaf seemed to stop in front her face. Before she could blink, it snapped, and the two pieces floated gracefully to the floor.

Kammie blinked. Not possible. Another leaf snapped next to her ear. She turned her head and saw a wooden handle near her right hand.

An old bokken, displaced by the her fall, was just within reach.

You have to live.

Whether the voice was real or not, she didn't know. Images of her son, and husband flashed before her. The dead man, who she hadn't known, who stepped in front of a bullet for her. Friends laughing, family crying… And finally, a redheaded man with a scar and a gentle smile.

I don't know you.

You have to live, he told her.

She grabbed the bokken and rose to her knees in a fluid motion, driven by anger and fear and love. As she moved, the wind intensified. Leaves blinded the man with the gun, and Kammie drove the bokken into the side of his head. He fell sideways, leaves falling around him. Kammie whirled, looking for the second man.

Her cheek throbbed, and her vision was still blurred. She went to where the man had fallen, bokken held warily in front of her. She stood, leaves flowing gently around her, searching. The man had gone. Relief throbbed through her; he must have run. The tip of the bokken lowered and Kammie reached up to cradle her bruised and bleeding cheek.

She didn't know what warned her.

Her own lantern flew through the air toward her. Acting on instinct, she brought the bokken up one-handed. The lantern's glass shattered and Kammie yelped.

"Some short little bitch," was the yell, "won't beat me."

He charged.

Kammie stepped backward. Bravado and lucky shots aside, she had absolutely no idea how to use the bokken. Desperately, she sidestepped his charge and barely ducked out of the way of the board he'd picked up. She swung the bokken, and was surprised when she felt it connect.

He stumbled, clutched at his side. He snarled another curse at her, and charged again. This time, Kammie stepped forward, angry enough to meet the charge with one of her own.

She yelled, swinging the bokken down with all her strength.

The man yelled, bringing the wooden club around.

A sharp crack echoed in the dark night. The broken and splintered board fell to the ground. Kammie stood panting, bokken in hand, and turned quickly. The man stood, looking at her wide-eyed, before groaning and pitching forward.

Kammie let the bokken fall. It clattered at the ground near her feet. The leaves settled on the ground as the wind died.

Live.

* * *

The morning sun shone brilliantly. To Kammie it seemed as if it couldn't be that bright, not after the long dark night. One investigator still stood near her, asking a few last questions about the night.

"Kammie Stone?" He asked.

"Kammie's just a nickname," she corrected. "My full name is Rose Kamiya Stone."

He nodded, smiling a little. "You're the owner of this dojo?"

She nodded, looking around. "Yeah, the Kamiya Dojo."

"It's been empty for awhile," he remarked.

"Not anymore," was her prompt answer.

They finished their conversation, Kammie promising to stay out of trouble. She watched the last policeman leave, smiling as she surveyed the leaves that littered the ground. Before her eyes, one tore itself in half, and her smile widened into a grin, then a laugh.

"I promise," she said. "The Kamiya Dojo will have laughter and life in it again. Does that appease the restless spirit?" Still laughing, she promised to clean.

Wind swirled the leaves around again. Kammie bowed. "Thank you."

And she resolved that Kenneth – her beautiful son – would know and believe the family legends.

The next time she came to the dojo, her husband and son accompanied her, and after placing a specially forged sakabatou on the wall, she told them the story of the hitokiri, Himura Battousai, who found redemption in the arms of the fiery kendo instructor, Kamiya Kaoru.

Until next time…


	2. Rattling the Cage

**_Rattling the Cage_**

_by__ Kellen_

_Summary: He does anything she asks, and when she asks for death, he cannot help but obey her._

_Disclaimer: It's almost original fic, I can't deny that, but the ideas and characters from Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X inspired all of this this._

_Author's Note/Warning: This installment is a tad dark. And creepy. Set in the far future, in case you couldn't tell. grin I never explicitly state who is related to whom, in regards to Kenshin and Kaoru. My thoughts were that it was so far removed into the future that my characters may not know or recognize their ancestry. Although, someone did teach them the Hiten Mitsurugi… There's a note after the story that tells you my particular theory. You, dear reader, are, of course, welcome to your own interpretations. That said, on with the story._

Jay ran through the ship, steps sure despite the shuddering through the bulkheads. They were boarding; the thrice-damned pirates were boarding and he had to find his sister. The captain didn't need him at the helm; the captain was dead and the ship was dead, drifting in the vacuum.

Jay raced past a portal, skidded to stop and turned to look out the window. He could see them docking. Plumes of air hissed soundlessly from the port and from where the pirate ship had used it's grapple, compromising the hull of the _Sakura_. _She'll fall, _Jay thought as he once again sped down the hallway, listening for the telltale creak of the airlock opening. _Just like the blossoms she's named for. _

He rounded a corner, and stopped suddenly, wide-eyed. He could hear the airlock opening. He could hear booted footsteps echoing. They were coming.

He clamped his mouth shut, resisting the urge to call his sister's name and instead ran toward Zephram's quarters. Jen would know to go there if there was trouble. Zephram protected them, taught them, and cared for them. Jay reached the door, pounded in Zephram's personal code and slipped in as soon as the door was open wide enough.

And was immediately hit on the head for his trouble.

He fell sideways, hands coming up to his temples and falling on his shoulder.

"Oh, Jay!" Jen's voice was quiet, but troubled and near panicked. He rolled onto his back, blinking at the darkness that threatened his vision.

"Close the door." Zephram's voice was the last he heard as his eyes fluttered closed.

* * *

Zephram was a weathered man, with white hair that contrasted sharply to his dark skin. His dark narrow eyes were filled with amusement, but set in a stern mien. His arms were leanly muscled, he was tall, and his legs powerful. He moved too quickly for Jay's eyes to follow. 

To Jay, Zephram was a god descended from the heavens that deigned to take care of a pair of orphaned siblings.

It's what made Jay love him like a father.

And that love made Zephram teach Jay and Jen the ancient art of the sword.

* * *

Jay's eyes fluttered and, as if through water, he heard Jen's voice. "He's coming around."

* * *

Jennifer Matsa. Sister to Jason Matsa. Three years younger, and she knew she was her brother's world. She never hesitated to use her power over him. But, then, he never fought that power. She was beautiful; long auburn hair and cornflower blue eyes coupled with a lean strong body never ceased to amaze the people around her. And it caused trouble for her brother. 

She was good with the sword, yes, but her sharp intellect was better put to use by remembering and researching the history of the names and techniques used.

"Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu," she'd always giggle as she corrected him when he forgot the name of the sword style Zephram was teaching them. Then she'd play with his bright red strands of hair that he could never tame and continue laughing as he pushed her hands away and grumbled.

* * *

"Wake him!" Zephram commanded gruffly. "They're at the door, and I will not let a student of mine die lying down." 

Jen sobbed and shook Jay by the shoulders.

* * *

They left Earth because Zephram believed there were more opportunities for two orphans trained in the ways of the sword off-world. He'd secured passage on this transport ship by telling the captain that Jay could pilot. Jay had had less then two weeks to learn rudimentary piloting skills. That's how Zephram taught them: Do or die. 

They'd boarded the ship, ignoring the news reports about the increased piracy in the Outer Rim.

* * *

Jay's eyes opened and he was greeted by his sister's face lined with tears. "Jay, Jay, come on," she said. "Listen to me. You have to get up. They're coming in. You have to move, Jay. Please, get up." 

Jay sat up slowly, blinking and rubbing the back of his head. There was a deafening screech and the door was forced open. Jay blinked owlishly as the men filling the doorway, disruptors drawn. "We found rats."

Jay acted without thinking. His arms wrapped around Jen's shoulders and he dove, forcing them both away from the pirates. He cried out, anger, pain and terror warring for their places within him.

"Move!" It was the last word Zephram ever said. Jay watched in horror, arms encircled his sister to spare her the sight, as Zephram turned toward the siblings he considered children and was struck down as he ran. Two steps. That was all he managed.

Jay wanted to scream above the sounds of the creaking and crackling metal, just to let the universe know he'd watched his sensei killed. Jen trembled in his arms; though he had turned her eyes away, she knew as well as he did what a dying scream was. Her blue eyes turned to gaze upon the pirates and Jay shuddered at the hatred that shone in them. "Kill them," she whispered. "I hate them."

Those who heard her words laughed and they reached down, grabbing her hair and pulling her upward. Jen clawed, screamed, bit and kicked and was silenced by a fist across her cheek.

Jay cried out, leaping forward as Jen fell. One of the men, much bigger than the slight frame of Jen and Jay, caught him with a kick to his stomach. Jay flew backward, landing in a heap amongst Zephram's prized swords. They cut him, and he screamed as he bled. The man who kicked him laughed at his screams and turned away from him, pulling his disruptor from his belt. Jen regarded him with horrified eyes as the weapon was brought to bear. The man pulled the trigger. Jen jerked backward, her body hitting the wall with a resounding thud before the whine of the gun dissipated.

She never screamed, but Jay heard her nonetheless.

He crawled to his hands and knees.

"He's still got fight," someone said.

Jay didn't pay attention. Jen was calling him.

The men turned toward him. He pulled himself upward, hand around the hilt of Zephram's favorite sword. His sensei had kept it immaculately clean and sharp. Jay settled into the stance Zephram had taught him so long ago: feet apart, shoulder dropped and slightly facing his enemy, hand hovering over the hilt of the sword. He just had to be faster. Faster than the disruptors. Faster than the men bearing their destruction. That's all he needed.

_Battoujutsu_. Jen's voice echoed in his head. She'd always been better at remembering the names and methods of the techniques. He'd always just done them.

The men advanced. Jay crouched lower, ready to spring. "Jen," he whispered. He could see her standing in the hallway, her lifeless blue eyes staring into his. _Come_, she said, opening her arms.

"I will, sister."

Jen's cracked and bloodied lips spread in a grim smile as her arms opened wide to receive her brother.

Jay moved. So quickly that none could see he cut down the first two pirates. Swinging his blade free of the bodies, he leapt forward even as the blood of the first two coated the walls. Jay whirled, bringing the swordto bear, feet slipping in the blood on the floor. It wasn't until his sword met no resistance when he swung that he stopped, back to the carnage, eyes closed against the fading screams.

Jen stood in front of him, still smiling and coated in blood. A hand closed around Jay's ankle and the rattle that death brought sounded in his ears. Without turning, he stabbed downward, catching the barely alive man in the throat. He pulled the blade free, ignoring the fresh blood, and kicked the hand off his ankle.

Jay looked up. Jen stood there and her hands moved to cup his face. _Dear brother._ Her voice was like the whisper of dead leaves falling. _Find the rest. Kill them. I hate them._ He smiled. "I will, sister." He ran his hand through her matted, bloody long hair as her image faded. Left with his hand upraised as drops of blood fell from the palm, and bloody handprints adorning his cheeks, he fell.

Just as Jen had, he fell.

And he was proclaimed a hero.

_The End_

_…but of course, "In the Wind" is ongoing… There will be more stories relating to the theme in the future._

_And I promised my theory on Jay, Jen and Zephram. I see them all as related to the Himura/Kamiya family. I imagined Zephram as from a branch of the family that continued the legacy, hoping to bring about a better way of life for those around him. Jen and Jay I imagined coming from another branch, so far removed that they probably didn't realize they hailed from a family that taught the way of the sword. By fate, the three met. (I mentioned Zephram caring for them after they were orphaned.) _

_I hope this one meets your expectations, my friends. _

_cheers,__Kellen_

_...by the way, I abhor QuickEdit... _


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